Page 49

CHAPTER 49

WOLF

I don’t know what the fuck Red was thinking getting into the truck with him, but it’s taken all of my self-control to obey my father rather than following them and finding out what the hell Daniel Payton thinks he’s doing within spitting distance of my wife.

Driving back to my house, I wrestle with my temper. It’s been a little longer than usual since I killed, and I’m getting twitchy. Daniel suddenly seems like the perfect target, and I imagine graphically how I might do it. I’ve been killing so long there’s no doubt I’m addicted to the adrenaline, the power. Red gives me many of those things, but right now she’s giving me the opposite.

Never have I ever felt so stressed, concerned for another person, or frankly angry. If I’m being really honest with myself, I’m hurt and jealous too. How could she get in that truck with him so easily when she ran from me, when I don’t even know she’s safe?

I realize there’s some hypocrisy in that, given I allowed my father to burn her home to the ground, but I never said I was fair. I’m a terrible person, but I’m growing more certain by the day I love her. That’s the only word I can fit to this overwhelming sense that she is everything. The smoke smell of her home sticks in my hair despite the shower I took, and it stinks like my own failure.

I shouldn’t have let my father do it. We’ve already taken too much.

When I pull up, his car sits in the driveway already, and I can tell by the way he’s sideways across his intended spot that he came home in a bad mood. I’d like to avoid him, but that will only worsen the situation.

I climb the steps, then walk into the house.

“Wolf!” he shouts from a sitting room near his downstairs office before I’ve even closed the door. His voice distorts with the pain, because he’s not doing well. I could take him into the city for real medical care, but I’ve offered already, and he’s declined colorfully.

My self-control is already suffering from seeing Red in her truck with another man, and my father is getting nastier by the hour. I don’t forsee this going well. He’s spiraling, and I’m not sure how much longer before he really loses it.

I step into the room and find him sitting on the couch with a bottle of Rye between his legs and a glass in his hand. His upper arm and shoulder sit tightly bandaged and propped beside him. He finally gave in when he started to develop a fever. Blood leaks into the fabric, and he’s still lousy with buckshot. He shakes as he stares at the TV, and I decide the man has officially lost his damn mind.

“What did your little bitch do this time?” Spit flies out of his mouth, and he slugs back the rest of his drink before I can answer.

He takes me by surprise because I’m really not sure. He didn’t see her driving away with the outpost merchant, and that wouldn’t matter to him either. As far as I know, she really hasn’t done anything but hide surprisingly well.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

I’m trying my very best to be accommodating, gentle, knowing he’s one word away from blowing his top. Drunk as hell, suffering, this is the worst of Carver Badgley, and I’ve spent too many years getting the worst of him to take that lightly.

“Fuck you, Wolf. Did you know?” He points an angry, sloppy finger at me.

“Know what?” I ask through my teeth.

“I’m so fucking tired of you playing stupid.”

I’m actually getting a little tired of being accused of faking stupid. Maybe I just fucking am.

“Maybe you’re tired from the buckshot,” I tell him as I watch him struggle to breathe through the pain. I enjoy his suffering more than I expected to. Maybe he’s already done more to work a wedge between us than I ever imagined.

He glares at me, and a moment later, the crystal glass he was sipping from flies past my head and shatters on the wall. I hope the effort to throw it hurt him ’cause it didn’t hurt me despite how close it came to my head. He snarls in fury that he missed, and it takes all my effort not to choke him to death right now.

“Why am I full of buckshot, Wolf?” He grunts in pain. “HOW THE HELL DID SHE FIND MY HOUSE?!” his voice rips through several octaves as his wound torments him. Too bad for her she doesn’t get to see what she’s done to the man she hates so much.

A faint ring fills the space as he quiets, the vibrations bouncing off the china and vases around the room. My stomach flips as I try to make sense of this situation. Is it the pain or the impending infection making him act, or is this just what a failing psychopath looks like?

“I don’t know how she found the house, but why are you so angry right now ?”

“You haven’t seen?”

He lifts his remote, turning up the volume. I turn to the screen, which I didn’t realize was playing behind me, just muted. Reporters cover the mountain. Not only are they looking for Bobby but they’re asking all kinds of questions about Grimm Groves, questions we’ve worked hard and paid a lot of money to prevent people from asking. My jaw drops as I watch a multi-generation, hundred-plus-year-old secret get blown to shit on national television.

“She finally got them asking questions,” he says.

I nearly laugh at his assumption because I know damn well my little Redley, who’s never even owned a TV, didn’t come up with this. She thought I was a goddamn immortal monster who had killed her entire family. She’s not stupid, but she sure is naive. I could try to explain any of that to him. That she lights her home with oil lamps and entertains herself by working hard and chasing me through the woods at night, not contacting the news, but he would kill me if I tried to defend her right now.

A handsome man stands in the center of town as he speaks. “Is Grimm Groves a scenic mountain town that people have forgotten about, or is something more sinister happening here? And where is Bobby Archer now? His wife is begging for our help in finding him, and we plan to do that now. We’ll be back with you at six.”

The broadcast ends, and a commercial replaces it. The only warning I get is a whizzing noise and a deep sense of dread before the bottle collides with the back of my head. The blunt force fades as it shatters and rains glass all over me, blacking out my vision and slicing my scalp apart. I stumble forward but manage not to fall. Searing pain covers my head, bits of glass drop to my feet, and hot blood drips down my skin.

“What the fuck!” I shout back, every inch of me vibrating and begging for retribution.

My fists clench, and I’m brought back to the night Red’s granny beat her into the broken glass on the floor. Graphic memories of the way I slit her throat, how she tried to call for Red, but she didn’t fucking deserve her, and she died for it. What does that say about my own father? Why did Granny deserve to die while he keeps stalking? I’m not any better than he is, but if I’m going to kill people for scarring up their family, he should go too. The problem is, I don’t think I can seriously harm him.

I turn to my father, already deciding that I’ve had enough. This relationship between the two of us needs to end. This plot against the Littles needs to end. It’s fucking over as far as I’m concerned because I’m going to marry Red, and we’re not going to keep paying the bill for his life. I plan to say all of that, but I don’t get the chance.

He’s already on top of me, wheezing in pain, drunk as hell, and using his good arm to strike me again. The pain is nearly blinding with the chunks of glass still left in my head from the bottle, so there isn’t a chance in hell I’m going to let him keep beating on me this time. He keeps swinging, and I can’t get my head straight. I reach out, grabbing at him until I find his injured shoulder, and then I dig my fingers into his wounds. He shrieks in agony and falls back. His eyes wheel, and I think about killing him myself. I really fucking want to, but I can’t. He’s still my father.

“This is all your fault!” he shouts. “You’ve ruined everything, just like usual! Stupid, useless, worthless?—”

“I’m fucking done.” I cut him off. “I’m done with you.”

He takes an aggressive step toward me, and I push him hard. He stumbles back until he finds the couch and then slumps down, practically wheezing in pain. A sheen of sweat coats his skin, and I’m not sure if it’s an infection in the wound sight or the bullets poisoning him, but he can’t keep going like this.

“What does that mean, Wolf? Done with me?” he asks.

“I’m going to help Redley. I’m going to marry her, and I’m going to finally put an end to all of this.”